As he comes in to land, the closest people leave their work to come and greet him. They seem deferent and respectful, but not as scared as people back home would be of a skymage. One small child is delighted by his wings and wants to run up and stroke them, but is diverted by her mother with a "No, sweetie, we don't want to bother the Magister." Apparently they think he's one of the local type of mages. 

After a little back-and-forth between a few of the men, one of them - a tad reluctantly - steps forward as a spokesman. 

"Uh - welcome to Alfriston, Magister," he says, clutching his cap to his chest. "How may we help you?" 

The deference is concerning, but at least gives him some sort of social script to follow.

"No need for formality. I just making a quick stop on my way to London. If anything, is there anything I can do for Alfriston? I can do weather magic. I could improve the weather here for a week or two."

"Well, that would be very kind of you, sir," he replies uncertainly, "but, y'see, I'm afraid we won't be able to offer your normal fees..."

"Ah, sorry for being unclear my good man. I was already paid to do the weather in this area. They are trying this new plan of doing weather manipulation around London. I have enough leeway to personalize the specific regions at least for a short while."

"Oh, right, well then." He grins. "A few less storms wouldn't go amiss, if you please." 

Grin. "Of course!" He closes his eyes. The magic has visible effects on the clouds ahead instantly, but most of the work is not something one can sense without weather magic. It takes him maybe ten minutes.

"Thank you kindly, Magister," the spokesman says when Felix has opened his eyes again. 

The villagers are delighted and grateful and a tiny bit awestruck. He has more small children peering at his wings with fascination. 

The children can touch the wings if everyone is okay with it.

Some of the bolder kids will pet his wings!

"Are they real feathers?" one asks. 

"Yup, fully functional bird-like wings."

"Woooow!" The little ones are even more fascinated, but most of them are a little more gentle with the feathers now they know these are his actual wings that he uses to fly.

Some of the adults look dubious; a few start encouraging their children to run along and play and stop bothering the nice man. 

"I never heard of a mage who could do that," one woman comments.

"It's not really standard, no."

A few of them look as though they would quite like to ask more questions about the wings, but don't want to be rude to the powerful mage. 

Their designated spokesman clears his throat. "Will you...be staying long?" 

"I should be going. I have business in London. Thank you for your hospitality!"

Various villagers try to hide their relief, some more successfully than others. The children are persuaded to stop petting Felix's feathers and move back so he has space to take off. 

"Thank you for making the clouds go away!" a little boy calls as he is herded away by his mother.

Felix plasters a polite smile on his face. "You're welcome!"

He takes flight and flies very high to avoid being seen from the ground. Does he manage to reach London without problem?

He does. London is surprisingly recognisable, although some of the newer landmarks are missing. Any differences caused by the magic system are not of the kind visible from this height.

The dreamshard is below him, in...that area of the city, which a map will inform him is Mayfair. 

Okay, he will find the portal he made earlier. Get in his bit of pocket dimension and then open a portal to one of the new pocket dimensions.

He finds himself in an empty, gutted house. It looks like every stick of furniture and piece of fabric has been ripped out with violent force, leaving only splinters and rags scattered around the bare rooms. Half the roof has caved in, but the light that makes its way into the room is grey and stripped of all life. It does less than it should to illuminate the dark corners. A fine grey dust coats every surface. 

Outside the window, the other houses on the street seem to have suffered a similar fate: ruined, abandoned, stripped bare. Not a single living thing can be seen, or even a hint of colour amid the grey. Black smoke rolls low over the broken rooftops and seeps in through shattered windows. Nothing else stirs. 

Wow. Felix goes outside to investigate, see if there is any sign of activity or something dangerous, like a monster.

Once he's out on the street, the shadows are a little less oppressive, and the sense of destruction is less immediate. The house he was in is definitely among the worst hit; it looks like it's barely staying up. 

There's still no sign of life in the immediate area, but in a few places there are faint pawprints visible in the dust. There were some inside the house, too, now he's thinking about it. Whatever animal made them, it has paws the size of a human hand. It's hard to pick out, since they're so scattered and faint, but a diligent tracker could work out that the pawprints lead from the house away down the street. 

Felix follows ready to react in case the creature pounces on him.

Following the tracks is slow going. There are places where the dust has blown off the cobblestones, leaving no trace of the creature's passing, and he often has to double back after guessing wrong about its direction. 

After a while, he sees the first signs that he is going the right way: up ahead, at the end of the street, a building is burning. Smoke gathers thickly around it, filling the street and obscuring Felix's view. The roaring flames seem to be the only part of this dimension that has not been stripped of all colour.

Huh.

Felix tries to produce a small ball of fire above his hand.

He also snuffs out the burning building.

He is not prevented from making a fireball. 

The larger blaze gradually gutters and dies. This does nothing to clear the dark smoke, through which the darker shadow of a feline can be glimpsed, black on black. On silent paws, it attempts to circle around behind him.